


In Repose

by sablier_bloque



Series: R&R [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Amputee Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Fluff, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, i'm SOFT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-31 15:01:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19428370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sablier_bloque/pseuds/sablier_bloque
Summary: In Wakanda, Bucky finds peace and healing, crisp grass beneath him, and a bright sun above.Steve interrupts his doze in the grass, but he doesn't mind.Inspired by littlewolf's 'Bucky in Wakanda' art.





	In Repose

**Author's Note:**

> I saw [Bucky in Wakanda](https://twitter.com/little_wolf82/status/1145383072126382080) art by [littlewolf](https://twitter.com/little_wolf82), and was so taken by how peaceful and beautiful it was that my mind ran away from me. So, thanks, littlewolf, for giving me all these feels.
> 
> This is unbeta'd so the mistakes are all mine, I'm afraid.

Bucky heard him before he could even see his shadow. Things were quieter these days, quieter than they’d ever been in his entire life, really: his sanctuary in Wakanda was calm and warm, with only the goats to keep him company most of the time. Shuri did come down more days than not, sometimes with the doctor in tow, but she’d already visited him that morning with a mischievous smile and a basket of fruit. 

Maybe she’d known then what Bucky was figuring out now, lying in the crisp grass, eyes closed, reveling in the feel of the sun kissing his skin. He knew who the shadow belonged to because it couldn’t belong to anyone else.

“Hmmm,” Bucky said. “Looks like some punk is blocking my sun.”

Steve laughed, and it still sounded the way it always had, a comforting constant in an inconstant world, as sure as the sun rising in the east. “Good to see you too, jerk.”

Bucky smiled then, his eyes still closed, and he felt Steve lie down at his right side. Neither of them said anything for a few moments, and Bucky briefly wondered if Steve had fallen asleep. Completing missions in the shadows and running from the United Nations was tough on Steve’s mind and body, and he always looked too damn tired during the few times he’d been able to visit. 

“I see why you’re lying out here. It’s… peaceful,” Steve finally said, his voice a whisper. 

“Yeah,” Bucky replied. And then Steve’s fingers entwined with his own and they both fell asleep as a warm breeze drifted against their bodies.

*

“How long?” Bucky asked after they’d woken up and walked the winding path back to Bucky’s hut.

“Just tonight, Buck,” he responded, his voice regretful. Steve's hair was the longest it had ever been and his beard was darker than Bucky would’ve expected. But it suited him so well that it had made his breath catch in his throat when Steve had woken him in the grass.

Bucky didn’t ask for specifics anymore of where Steve had been or where he was going, and Steve never gave them. He’d tried asking the first time Steve visited during his recovery, but he’d refused.

“That life doesn’t concern you anymore,” he’d said. “Not until you’re ready.”

It had eaten at him at first, knowing that Steve was on the run because of him, that the Avengers were in pieces because of him. But sometimes he forgot that Steve wasn’t a 95-pound invalid anymore. He didn’t need saving and he didn’t need Bucky interfering in his affairs. He was capable of making his own decisions. And after making those decisions, Steve had brought him here to recover, not to fret over superheroes and multinational accords. So that’s exactly what he did.

“I wasn’t expecting company,” Bucky said, pouring water into the cup that Steve held steady. “So I’ll need to trade for some extra food. Do you want to sleep some more or come with me?” He hoped for Steve’s sake that he’d choose the former and he hoped for his own that he’d pick the latter.

“Of course I’ll come with you,” Steve said.

So they walked to Mboye’s place around the lake, both of them carrying bottles of goat's milk to trade for beef. Steve looked so out of place, another white boy in his jeans and t-shirt and sneakers, and it made Bucky chuckle. Steve raised an inquisitive eyebrow, but he kept his amusement to himself. 

When they arrived, Mboye’s eyes flitted between them as she took the milk and then she looked pointedly at Bucky.

“Handsome,” she said in isiXhosa, gesturing her head toward Steve.

He laughed and responded in her tongue. “Yes.”

She handed him a package of beef, its weight heavier than it should be, even with the extra milk.

“Yours?” she asked.

He nodded. He hadn’t understood what he and Steve had had when he’d first come out of the haze of the Soldier, but he did now. He was sure of it. “Yes.”

*

Tasks were harder without his metal arm, but he didn’t miss it. He felt more human now, more himself than he ever did with HYDRA’s machine woven into his skin. Still, he didn’t say no when Steve offered to cut the vegetables for the stew.

The survival skills learned during the war came in handy here, namely, cooking without electricity. It was easier now, a walk in the park, to cook a stew rich with food from a wealthy Wakanda as opposed to watery scraps in the cold winter of the Alps. And the constant, nagging fear of death, the Grim Reaper just behind his shoulder who had followed him since 1943, was gone, replaced by lulling warmth and soft earth and the man sitting before him. His north star. 

Steve told him stories of Nat and Sam traveling and bickering across the world while the scent of browned beef and cardamom filled the hut, the stew bubbling gently over the fire. He laughed when Bucky told him about helping Shuri and M’Baku prank T’Challa on his birthday last month, and that Shuri had gotten grounded for a week because of it.

“She told him he wasn’t her dad, but then he said he was her king, and who’s going to argue that?”

Bucky taught him a board game popular with the tribespeople, and then he ladled the stew into bowls hand-carved by Ishanta, an old man down the road whose hands were crippled with arthritis, so Bucky cherished them all the more.

Steve’s eyes closed when he tasted the first bite, his eyelashes fanning against the soft freckles of his cheeks. Steve was so goddamn beautiful that it took his breath away, and suddenly—

“Are you really hungry?” Bucky asked.

Steve looked up from the stew with a raised brow. “Yes?”

“I mean, do we have to eat right _now_?”

“ _Oh_.” He shrugged and smiled. “No.” 

*

The first time, after the war and the train and HYDRA and Steve as his mission and Steve throwing down his shield, the first time their bodies came together after all of that time had been five months ago in this very hut. 

“I remember, Steve.” Bucky had said. “All of it.” He’d placed his hand on Steve’s arm, his fingers wrapping and rubbing gently around his wrist. Steve’s eyes had widened with disbelief. And hope. And Bucky had smiled. “And I still want that with you. If you do too.”

Steve had been worried and uncertain and had asked Bucky— _are you sure—_ a dozen times until Bucky had placed Steve’s hands on his own face, one by one, looking him directly in the eyes. “Yes, Stevie, yes.”

It had been slow and hesitant, a slide of bodies under furs, skin prickled by the February chill. The first time in 72 years, a bigger body, a missing arm, a wounded soul. Yeah, they had to relearn each other all over again. 

But now they did know each other, and Steve’s lips against his skin were comfortable, the warmth of his mouth on his cock familiar and welcomed. 

Before the Soldier, Bucky had been a talker during sex, babbling like a fool whenever Steve would touch him and kiss him and fuck him. Now he was quieter. Soft moans or a whine or two escaping his lips at climax. Whether it was a remnant of HYDRA scars or the calming weight of Wakanda on his soul, he wasn’t sure. Tonight, though, he whispered, “ _baby_ ” as he came, and Steve’s resulting moan, a loud collision in the quiet night, made him shiver just as much as his release.

Steve held Bucky afterward, pressing gentle kisses in his hairline. It was quiet, their breaths mingling together, and Bucky was just drifting off to sleep when he heard Steve whisper, “I’m so proud of you, Bucky.”

Tears welled in his eyes and Steve kissed them away when they fell down his cheeks.

*

Steve woke him up the next morning, already in his fight suit, his bag packed next to the door. The suit was dirty and torn now, the remnants of a year on the run, and he didn’t look anything like the Star Spangled Man with a Plan. That was okay with Bucky; the whole world saw him as Cap, perfect and infallible, even as a fugitive. But he knew him as _Steve_ , small and skinny and flawed and _his_.

“Don’t take the stupid with you,” Bucky said. _Be careful_ is what he meant. 

Then Steve stepped forward and trailed kisses on Bucky’s cheeks and nose and mouth. “No,” he replied, taking Bucky’s hand and pressing it tightly against his heart. “I’ll leave it here with you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! You can find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/sablier_bloque) (most active) or [Tumblr](https://sablier-bloque.tumblr.com/).
> 
> And please make sure to give [littlewolf](https://twitter.com/little_wolf82) love for their amazing work! :)


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